Going deep into the Necropolis, hills rise further away from the golden veins. Formations and structures are distant from the canopy, in shade.

The substance does not change, although less light makes it harder to get the appearance of these constructions.

What is certain is that they are huge.

Not so much the hills of bones and coal on which they rest, but more in the bell towers and facades.

The doors peeled off, and the gargoyles were no longer visible.

But I know they're lurking. I always am.

Climbing another staircase something pricks my ankle.

“Hm?” I prick up my ears and turn around.

Gron points a paw at me to a distant point in the darkness.

“Have you found anything?”

It nods. “There is a different structure. It has octagonal external walls and several floors composed of pointed arches.”

Gron's description tells me nothing. But—

Ci-cin!

«Fsss.»

A glimmer of hope lights up.

A structure different from the others!? It means a structure that may not be a simulacrum!

Maybe it is a mausoleum and—

Ci-cin, Ci-cin, Ci-cin, Ci-cin…

“Hehe. I'm excited too, prrr.”

♦

The darkness is absolute.

To see. I have to detach a sort of ulna from a pile of bones, throwing [Will-o'-the-wisp] and get a minimum of light.

I envy that Gron does not need torches like I do.

In the dark, it sees even better than Sylviette. It makes me a little envious. In short, am I or not the [Bakenekro] who must guard this place?

Would not it have been better to create me with flawless vision in the dark?

On the other hand, I have unbeatable hearing… hmm, maybe things are equivalent?

It does not matter.

As we advance, piles of bones begin to invade the road. The pavement becomes deformed, some tiles are detached or inclined, and walking becomes more difficult. I have to be careful. Even with [Immortality], stepping on a sharp bone hurt—although I do not risk anything else.

Gron moves agilely between obstacles and jagged edges, remaining at the edge of my area of light.

I keep up. But it resorts to [Shadow wall] to get around too dense clusters. Or sudden holes of loose ground.

I am surprised that a buzz often comes from these bone pits. There is some undercurrent. Thicker and slower, perhaps viscous, than a stream of water.

I would look around, but the interest in the new building is the biggest. So, I leave it alone.

Gron is now standing in front of a stone pillar.

“We have arrived?” I look around, but I'm not surprised to see no signs of construction besides the large pillar. The latter gets lost standing in the darkness above.

“Yes, this pillar is the support of two arches. Your light illuminates neither the point where it bifurcates nor the other sides.”

“Well… thanks, I can see this myself.”

The ground around us has become well-leveled again. The large asphalt and stone slabs are level near the column. The bones end their offshoots a few steps away from us.

Hmm, in short—these are clues that make me think. This area is an area inside another area. As the forest is to the dungeon, as the containment structure is to the forest, and so on.

The dungeon is rhizomatic. Connected at every point with other points, you just need enough time to travel.

Gron looks at me, yawns, and begins to shine its fur.

“Let's go in?”

It nods and paws up to the column. Beyond that, it disappears from the bright field of my light.

♦

Inside the structure, I feel like I am walking on an empty floor. Every ten to fifteen steps, a column enters my field of vision. The slab floor does not change, and it takes a few minutes to cross the colonnade in a straight line.

Seen from Gron from a hill at a great distance, I am not surprised that it is such a vast structure.

Immersed in darkness the colonnade ends. I cannot be sure that the corridor is finished. But I assume so because the flooring changes.

Stone steps appear leading down. My flame illuminates the front rows.

I look around for Gron. But I cannot find it.

“Gron. Gron!”

I hear the echo.

“I'm here, I'm coming here.”

Gron enters the area illuminated by my light.

“Where did you disappear to?”

“Sorry, I was just looking around here.”

I point to the steps with the barbed tail. “Is the colonnade finished?”

“Yes. This area is strange. There are these steps that go down and down. But there are some braziers. I'll take you there so you can make more light.”

I nod. Gron walks to the edge of the first step. I follow it, looking around, but I do not notice anything interesting.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

When we reach the brazier, Gron steps aside, and I approach.

[Will-o'-the-wisp]

The blue flame expands, and I turn off the torch.

Still holding my ulna, I approach the brazier. As big as my bedroom, the object is a rough, perforated metal bowl.

The rays of light pass through the holes projecting steps away (the holes are larger at the top and smaller at the base).

Turning around, I can see an arch in its width and the beginning of the one on the upper floor.

On the road traveled, in the dark, there is a staircase.

Turning back to the brazier things come to my mind. Its shape is familiar. But not seen up close.

Even the steps. Although the structure on the outside—according to Gron's sighting—is octagonal, the internal steps appear to curve steadily, like ovals.

As if—I am inside an arena.

Is it the Arena? Or a similar structure?

Doubt creeps into my mind. If this is the Arena, is it safe to enter the stands?

Entering the central Arena would be a big mistake. To get out of it is necessary to [obliterate] a contender.

Hmm… what if there are other pitfalls?

Mindful of the distances taught me. I use [Will-o'-the-wisp] three times. Three braziers on lower tiers are lit, in line with mine.

Ci-cin.

I look at the line of light that immerses itself in darkness for a few moments.

The distances coincide. If they did not coincide, the [Will-o'-the-wisp] would have dissolved, as they had no target.

If the measures are the right ones, this is probably the arena.

“So? I see you are perplexed.”

I search with my gaze. But I see nothing in the illuminated area.

“Gron, are there any gargoyles in sight?”

“Prrr. You mean sitting in the stands?”

My tail writhes and writhes. “Exactly. Do you see any?”

“Should I or should I be worried?”

“Just tell me if you see them.”

Gron rubs its face with a paw. “Yes. They are huge and have numerous wings, limbs, and horns. They're sitting several bleachers down and—I think they maintain some regularity in distancing from each other.”

I raise my hand and signal that I understand. Now I am sure this is the Arena.

The gargoyle lords. The beings who ensure that no one escapes the Arena while a fight is in progress. Escaping onto the steps would be a serious mistake.

Their average [lv] is [80]. Some, very ancient, reach [lv: 89]. Kirlh'iau could not have done it.

Even without Mircalla and the [Fiend], without their weapons, without my emergency [Immortality]. Even without all this—only the [Devil] or a related being could survive without difficulty.

Life is so strange.

Kirlh'iau has always been a goner. But the cause it fought for had blinded it and—

Who knows what cause it was fighting for?

Maybe I should ask about its reincarnation. I have not called it back in a long time. Of course, with the temper that it has…

And he tends to dissolve things with acid, as if—

One moment.

Oh!

Of course!

I look up at Gron. It is watching me back, probably wondering why I do not say anything. Although it was already my guest at the time, I remember that it remained hidden in the [core]—Interface area.

So, Gron did not see the fight.

“Gron, we have to go back. I know this place, and there is nothing here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we took the wrong path.”

“Prr. So, what should we do.”

I point my index finger toward the arch. “We have to go back outside. Any mausoleum we come across is fine. I just had an intuition!”

♦

[Necromancy]

Blackish slime converges from the piles of bones at my feet. The more it thickens, the more it discolors until it becomes a whitish mass.

Humanoid.

With large, sharp bat-like wings, and a double-mouthed head; from a superior bird and an inferior shark. And the sprawling and varicose veins that cover the entire body.

The white tentacles mane, the claw legs, the erect posture, and the white peacock tail—

[Fiend] emerges into the darkness, illuminated by the [Will-o'-the-wisp] I cast on some surrounding bones.

Gron rolls its eyes.

“What stuff is this!?”

“An old acquaintance who gave me a lot of trouble.” I shake my head waiting for the [Fiend] to appear.

The being turns towards me. Panting.

I had forgotten this trait. That constant and awkward panting comes from its beak. As if it were always out of breath.

No.

I had not removed it. I secretly hoped that as a deceased, it did not need to breathe…

…but it continues to pant anyway! It must be a tik or something we have no control over. Neither me nor it.

The [Fiend] closed its eyes, and I covered my ears. I squeeze my eyelids closed and ruffle my hair.

HOW. Annoying!

Sigh.

Ci-cin.

I reopen my eyes. Gron and the [Fiend] are looking at me motionless.

“Fiend.”

“N. So sad to see you again.”

“Would you rather stay with your nightmares?”

The being sniffs as if it were about to sneeze. It stops suddenly. “When I'm awake, I only have a vague memory of my dreams. I think it's so. I can't talk about it with people like you.”

Years later, I still do not know how spontaneous there is in the thralls I recall with [Necromancy].

They are very reminiscent of the people they depict, but I have no way of telling how spontaneous there is about them. I have this epidermal, or rather subcutaneous, fear.

…the fear that they are nothing more than puppets. They're playing a comedy to amuse me. A sad comedy that the puppeteer unintentionally carries out to alleviate the anguish of its loneliness.

Tail, do you understand me?

Ci-cin.

The snake-headed tail wags. It looks away and points to the base of a staircase.

Some bones are stuck vertically between the steps. A light golden blanket has wrapped them.

I look up and see the top of the hill. On the level top, I glimpse the base of the mausoleum, absorbed in the darkness.

“Fiend, we have to go up. You have to dissolve the door wall with acid.”

The being nods without adding anything. It turns and takes off panting.

Gron and I follow it up the stairs.

♦

The door melts steaming under the force of the jet of acid that the [Fiend] belches out of its goiter. It is a high-pressure jet that flakes the gold—immune to acid—and pushes the fragments into a cavity.

“Oh! Prr. They are empty.”

I nod. Yes!

The first part of my intuition is correct. Those doors-not doors left me confused from the start.

Now, we just need to understand what is inside.

The [Fiend] lands in front of us, positioning itself between us and what remains of the doors.

“The wall is rebuilding.” It indicates it by raising a wing and pointing with a finger.

I look at the opening at the edges and notice that a yellow light comes from inside. The door-looking wall is reconstituting itself, but with a slowness that makes it an irrelevant matter.

“It will take many hours before it is reconstituted. Let's go in.”

Thanks to the light from the crypt, I do not need magic, and Gron and the [Fiend] follow me.

The emotion of discovery is lurking, and I feel my neck and cheeks warm with emotion.

What is behind it?

Gold? Hair and veins? Dal-Dazzer's corpse? Or maybe the same one in a meditation attitude?

In the doorway, I take a breath of air.

I take a step forward.

A screen appears before my eyes.

WARNING

Cosmic meditation area.

[Empress] Access: Allowed.

Interrupt the meditation of the wise dead?

[Yes] [No]

I look behind me.

The [Fiend] pants while resting.

“Well?”

“E—Er—a screen asks me if I want to stop the wise dead's meditation…”

Gron tilts its head. “Your choice. Prrr.”

The [Fiend] cackles with its shark mouth. I give up on asking its opinion. As long as it belongs to it.

So…

…is that I do not know anything about what this message is asking of me.

I bend down to peek under the screen. In the crypt, the room is made of the usual bones and coal lime. It is a minimal ossuary, which there is nothing else.

Gold fuzz sparks everywhere, like an invasive mold typical of other dungeon areas.

I do not see any essay. I strain my ears to try to hear…

…it does not look like anyone is inside. However, I know well that System messages appear only in important situations. Mainly related to the functioning of the System itself.

Anxiety makes me look around more carefully. Looking for clues.

But there is nothing.

Nothing that can help me understand what lies behind those words.

So, should I opt for [Yes]? Or do [No] like when I wanted to use the Atmosphere-eater to eat all fish of [lv: 3] or lower?

In that case, it would have been a mass [obliteration]. Resulting in the formation of a pile of errors. A series unmanageable by System and—

Oh.

I just realized something.

Ci-cin.

There are no errors around me. Not a single coral appears to have taken root in this area.

Is this a coincidence? Perhaps the malfunction of the System is still relatively widespread, with pockets that are still healthy.

Or maybe it has something to do with this screen?

Hmm…

…

HA! I cannot know anyway!

Ci-cin!

I tap my heel on the ground.

I snort.

I am undecided, and I am afraid of doing something irreparable. To this day, I am not sure I did the right thing with Kirlh'iau, let alone the mistake of feeding the [Devil] to the [Leviathan] to get myself out of a sticky situation.

Sigh.

Feeling sorry for myself is not going to solve anything, and I have no way of knowing how much time we have left.

I give myself a couple of slaps on the cheeks. Agree. Whatever happens. We need to move forward. We will think about the details later.

[Yes]